Bone Idols

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Drawn together through the art form, our collective wish was to create within, and hopefully beyond its bounds. We were geographically disparate (from London to Long Beach via Dallas, Connecticut and Australia), our connection was not physical, not about our locale, it was built on our mutual passion and a wish to simply create dope shit and have a seat at the table.

And here we were, punctuating the end of a productive year, hosting a party that sought to set the dial to relax. Alcohol was consumed, plenty. Weed was consumed, also plenty. Mics were turned on, beats were played. This, the same ritual that had brought us together years earlier. Among others, our key collaborators were in that smoke filled room; Aphletik, a Long Beach MC with a strong storytelling flow, Kapoo, the

Connecticut Delegate whose lyrical turns confound the sharpest of ears, Tommy Evans, who caught a few off guard that night with his freestyle, Mickey Morphingaz, our DJ and fellow musical traveller. And finally Bobby Boyd who, in a sobering moment dropped a weighty verse on the instrumental to Keep On, our summer release of that year that had garnered critical acclaim and some love on the airwaves.

All the memories of that night, folded, packed and sealed.

I would archive, with the greatest of reverence the release of Keep On, our lead track with Aphletik that featured UK stalwart Ty. Of all the songs we worked on, this grew the most organically from MPC beat to finished vinyl, it also did that most tricky of dances; it transmitted positive vibes without being corny. Slipped in as a footnote would be the first time I heard it on the radio, on a sticky summer’s day – it getting rewound three times in a row.

Placed directly next to this would be the Mini DV tapes of all the live gigs we did that autumn as part of our support residency at the Jazz Cafe, warming up for a smorgasbord of our heroes. If you could bottle the atmosphere of the night Talib Kweli played with Mos Def that would be in there. To this day I have never felt more the distinct possibility that the roof might actually be raised.

Most definitely included would be the night we gatecrashed Jaylib’s dressing room, we were a little green about the etiquette (not knowing there were two rooms), Dilla greeted us with smiles and Madlib understandably, remained po-faced, sipping Henny. The next night our dressing room was clearly signed.